I found everything as if it were yesterday: joy and sorrow. The time must have been a carousel to be a focal point around which the events or rode slipped or was it vice versa? The focus centered on things? For there is no discernible progress, at least not linear. Apparent standstill in the center of scares me, but also in the periphery.
I think the red iris again, and it was yesterday, I find a new, checked nest - empty because of the gap between the floor joists and shade is too narrow for anything round, as usual, in an open concrete box held captive hunting dog, the is taken out about four times a year for hunting, had been delivered as always at this time with boys - she has again tried out a couple of sawdust to make a kind of nest and suckle their young, until the owner, as always, the end of the week to clean the "pig sty" and the boys appeared with equal ausmistete. Since then, the bitch as always at this season, fever and chills, an udder like a rock and crawl and writhe with fear like a trampled worm on the ground, its tail trapped extent that it protrudes below the chest.
Once again I am baffled by the crate, staring at the thick padlock. Even if it could destroy itself, it would be a burglary. And nobody needs to nervous hunting dogs, least myself
Therefore, I repeat, as always, 10% Greek yogurt cream and push it through each day with the gratings. Joy and greed pulls and bites the dog in the potty to make it faster to draw in, while they shed as always half of their own droppings, and in the wet, urine-soaked wood chips - but it will be the highlight of the day, even an empty yogurt cup is distraction and it can be completely eaten away, as always, after all the tricks.
My horror gets somehow become routine and the routine is close to the boredom. Bored, I wonder why there are still people who have dogs with pigs, dogs and pigs both with mindless, sheet layout and to wear imaginary utensils and confuse themselves with people.
As always, I mean cat mint every two years to honor this season - a sure sign that the food situation is hopeless. Mint with green flashing eyes enjoying my secret admiration. An image of independence, love of freedom and wildness, sometimes years, untraceable, especially when I wore my thoughts with castration, then reappeared, as if everything was yesterday launched at purring affection. Around you is doing, her tail outstretched and her Hinterteilchen high, as it would require even a hint of what is now happening again. I pull out my supplies two and a potty out Patébüchsen Greek yogurt cream. Mint eats swallows, and licks at breakneck speed and is finally sitting stunned for a while, not to explode. The next day, her stomach by exactly the amount of two doses of the potty and has grown.
I peer up and try in the gable of the hole to make bees locate, transform my house now in its third successful year in a beehive. I'm trying to picture me as it may look good in there. I can, once again, just conjecture. Somehow I was hoping once again, the bees have a cold, damp, did not survive as well-always-winter - but no, there they are, as always busy at work. It can be a big stick, because I hear her "standing up" in the morning at about 7:30 on a regular basis. And at night I wake up with my reading lamp at most times a bee buzzing here startled by the blanket comes and manic umsummt the light, so I interrupt inevitably my reading, as always fall for the lies ready lobes and carry the pesky Summerin outside needs. The hysterical buzzing and the interruption of my comforting Voreinschlafphase make me angry. But calmed again and again I thought of the many divine moments of my life that gave me these busy creatures: with shimmering, Piedmont acacia honey, I'm me for breakfast on a couple of thick oatmeal, Greek yogurt and sliced kiwi fruit, bananas, red grapefruit pieces and apples could drop, or karamellartigem, pale yellow French lavender honey, tone on tone, a bread and butter smeared thick sheet or slightly resinous, dark honey from Amazonian Brazil, which tastes somehow like orchids, colorful parrots and huge jungle plants.
Since it is surely the least that I have this happiness creators of my honey my house as a refuge disposal imagine.
This small sacrifice I must surely - as always - will be worth.
In principle, we probably all know the importance of honey bees. But the numbers are always impressive nonetheless: 
